Bound
by Radioactive Plasma
Summary: AU In a world where one could supposedly choose who they want to marry, Prince Hector becomes engaged to Lady Fiora. But with her visit comes a storm that will shake his entire being. [Indefinite hiatus]
1. Announcement

**Bound **

****

* * *

_Announcement_

* * *

Everything was still. You could have heard a pin drop, even though the throne room was filled with a crowd of people. All eyes were a blue-haired young man who was kneeling in front of two thrones, anxiously anticipating his reaction. The nervous silence stretched on until—

"Wha…_what_?" blurted Crown Prince Hector of Ostia Kingdom incredulously, his mouth hanging open in a quite undignified way. He couldn't have heard his parents right; it had to be a lie! The king and queen wouldn't do this to him, especially in Ostia, the land of supposed freedom.

"A visit, my prince. A visit from Lady Fiora," repeated his mother, the queen, patiently looking down at her thunderstruck son. "You have heard of her. She is the second princess of Ilia. Her noble parents wish for you to—"

"To decide on the matters of our engagement, I _know_! But you made it sound like it's already been settled!" raged Hector, childishly. He was used to getting what he wanted, and an engagement is definitely what he had in mind. He had heard such horrible stories concerning marriage, like how you were forced to only be with your wife at all times (which consequentially leads to never seeing your friends again), how people expected you to be only centered around work and responsibility, etcetera, etcetera. Don't even get him _started_ on the subject of screaming little children.

"Well…" his mother said, looking guilty. He knew it. He had assumed as much, but her tone confirmed his suspicions. They had said _yes_, didn't they? The _beautiful_ lady Fiora, ever so _graceful_ and so _noble_…you couldn't even being to compare her with the Crown Princess! _She_ was surely to inherit the royal crown instead of her crazy sister, Princess Farina. So they probably thought, why go for Princess Farina, who was certainly going to lose her throne, when the royal rulers of Ilia offered their second daughter's hand in marriage? That would secure Ostia's own throne as well! Let's accept the proposal without asking Hector's opinion!

"Cancel it! I am _not_ getting married, I'm only nineteen! I refuse—"

"Please, Prince Hector," pleaded his mother, glancing around at the nobles anxiously. His father stayed deathly silent, which was never a good sign. "Keep your voice down, there's no need to shout."

No need to shout? His freedom was at stake here, for Elimine's sake! "_I_—_am_—_not_—"

"Hector," said his father, his voice low yet deadly. Hector fell silent immediately, sensing the impending danger. He was still frowning, however, as the king continued to speak. "Do not be a child. Accept the proposal for your kingdom's and your sake." At his words, Hector's short temper immediately flared up again. Always the kingdom first, and him second—what kind of parents were they!

Sensing the approaching outburst with her motherly instinct, the queen put a hand on her husband's arm then turned to her son. "We can discuss it later," she said softly, more to restrain her enraged husband than the angry Hector. She was worried what the king would do, more than her prince's sulkiness, if he continued to disobey his father so openly and rudely. "You have until the end of her visit to decide. We're not asking you to make a decision right now; just be prepared for her stay." Hector clenched his fists, nodding his head grudgingly, though he had no intention of ever doing what the wanted him to do. He had always gotten what he wanted, and this time wasn't going to be an exception.

* * *

**Author's Note**: A spoiled and immature Hector. Can you imagine? I realize that he's OOC, but due to the story's plot, that couldn't be avoided. Have no fear, however! He's going to grow more mature as the story progresses…

Reviews and constructive criticisms are always appreciated!


	2. Lady Fiora

**Bound**

****

**

* * *

**

_Lady Fiora_

* * *

Body dripping all over with well-earned sweat, Hector exited the training grounds with a refreshed feeling. An iron sword of exceptional quality hung at his side, clanking merrily against his armor. It had been but a month since he had started learning how to use a sword, and he was improving with every practice. He couldn't say that he was good yet, but at least he had the basics down.

Whistling a unrecognizable tune, he burst into his room and collapsed on top of his bed, laughing to himself. Soon, he would be able to beat Eliwood in-a son of one of the nobles, his closest friend-in a match. The red-haired youth had won (only two more duels than Hector; out of 31 matches, 15 he won, 13 he lost, and 3 tied) with that blasted rapier of his. Wouldn't it be a surprise when he found out that Hector could wield a sword! He could not wait to see that dumbstruck look on his face.

Burying his face into the pillow as he chuckled at the imagined scene, he rolled over so that he was on his stomach. And with every day, with every practice, he was getting closer and closer to his vision. Not that he wanted to humiliate Eliwood or anything-he was Hector's best friend, after all. He just wanted to prove him wrong. He was getting tired of his wise-guy look after a match, the face that said I-told-you-axemen-were-no-match-for-knights-like-me. Well, you're right, Eliwood. Until the axeman learns to use a sword, that is!

His fits of mad chuckles were interrupted by a timid cough at the door, and Hector looked up to see a frightened servant waiting. Clearing his throat and straightening up quickly as much dignity as he could muster at the moment, Hector looked her and said, "Yes?" Her eyes moved from his disheveled hair, to his dusty cloak, and then to his sweat-soaked clothing before she spoke.

"Her Majesty and His Majesty the King requests your presence in the throne room as soon as possible, she squeaked, so quietly that he almost missed her words.

He coughed again, trying to cover up his embarrassment at being caught acting so crudely. "Er…do you know what for?" he asked cautiously. It had been two and a half weeks since the last time he had been called to the Royal couple's presence, and he remembered it not being a very enjoyable experience. Come to think of it, they (namely his father) were probably still displeased with him and wanted to reprimand him again in private. Silence greeted his words, while the maid wringed her hands together nervously.

"So…you don't know what for?" he asked, and she started so horribly that he had to work hard to fight back an annoyed growl. It wasn't as if he was going to bite her head off or anything. Why were all the servants so afraid of him? He had never raised a hand against them, or use any sort of violence on them for that matter, yet they were all so terrified whenever he gave them orders, or just even passed them by. And on top of that, the word was going to spread like wildfire among the servants of the castle that the prince had gone insane. Great. Just what he needed. Even the _servants_ whispering behind his back, as if it weren't enough that the nobles already did so. It's not that he really cared for what they said, but every time he saw the disapproving look on his father's face and the exasperation in his mother's eye he wished that he had not done the things to cause such things. But those moments faded away just as quickly as they came, and Hector would be right back where he started, which mostly consisted of him doing whatever he wanted to do.

"No, sir," she replied quickly. Perhaps a little too quick, but he was too preoccupied to notice.

"Fine, fine," he said grudgingly, waving her away. "Tell them I'll be right down. I just need to clean up a big…" She scurried off hastily before he finished his sentence. He blinked once, then twice, in surprise and annoyance, but soon let it go.

He yawned mightily, and covered his mouth with his hand as he did so. That reminded him how worn out he was from his exercise, but he had to get ready if he were to make a proper appearance to His and Her Majesties. He had to take a quick bath, and change into clean clothes but he was so tired.

"I'll just close my eyes and rest for a bit before I do so," Hector said to himself, laying down on the bed again. He would get up in five minutes and get wash up. Take a bath, then change…five…minutes…

But even before his head hit the pillow he was fast asleep.

There was a buzzing of a fly, and Hector tried to swat it (where ever it was), but his arms were too heavy. The buzzing grew louder and louder, and with a sleepy groan he waved his hands, but again they did not respond to him. Meanwhile, the buzzing had grown to actual words, which confused his blurred mind greatly.

"Your Highness! Your Highness!" the fly cried hysterically, and something shook him to consciousness. Hector's eyes flew open, and a frantic face came into focus. His first thought was—An oddly shaped talking fly…how peculiar. He quickly corrected himself as his brain became more aware. He was a servant that usually tended to his father.

"What…?" the prince said sleepily, attempting to sit upright. He was having a most wonderful about a sea of green before the fly, er, the servant came and woke him up. "What is it?"

"His Majesty and Her Majesty have been waiting in the throne room for forty-five minutes!" the servant cried, unable to mask the panic in his voice. Hector sprang up.

"What!" he said, his eyes wide. "Forty-five!" He should have been down at least twenty minutes ago!

"Blast!" he exclaimed, bolting from the bed. Normally, the servant would have gently corrected him, but they were in such a hurry that he did not bother to.

Hector fumbled while unclasping his dusty cloak, and then tried to put on a new one, but his hands kept missing so he threw it aside. Racing in front of the nearest body-length mirror, he discovered that he still had his practice armor on. With the servant's help he got it off in a few (but seemingly eternal) moments, and flung that to a random spot on the wall. Placing himself in front of the mirror again, he saw that his royal blue and brown clothes were extremely dusty, and he tried to brush it off in vain. He would have gone on as long as he could have, being stubborn as he was, but the servant's cries of "Hurry, Your Highness, hurry!" threw him off so badly that he gave up on that, too.

"This way, Your Highness!" the servant exclaimed as he bolted from the door, leading the way toward the throne room.

"I _know_ where the blasted room is!" Hector replied snappily, feeling very disgusting indeed in his dirty training clothes. The two sprinted down the halls, the servant thinking of how mad His Majesty was going to be afterwards, and the prince sniffing himself and wondering how bad he smelled.

"Hey, what's so urgent that they wanted me to be there immediately—aargh!" he cried as he ran into the servant who made an abrupt stop and nearly crashed down onto the floor. "What's the big idea!" he said, regaining his composure.

"Shh," the servant said softly, bringing a finger to his lips. He indicated toward the door, which was but a few yards away. "Quietly." Hector nodded grudgingly, biting back a cross comment. It wasn't the servant's fault.

Upon reaching the closed doors of the throne room, the servant made an eye contact with him and signaled for him to wait until he had announced the prince's arrival. Hector nodded, to show that he understood.

Clearing his throat the servant pushed them open, which made a low-pitched creak as they did. Elegantly he stepped onto the lush red carpet that led to the throne room and bowed. "His Highness Prince Hector has arrived." Hector couldn't see anything save for the back of the servant, because the doors blocked his vision. He didn't need to see, though. He could guess what kind of faces that his parents had put on… Despite himself, he gave a nervous shudder.

There came a muted voice, and the servant whispered to him, "Your Highness. They are waiting." With a gentle gulp Hector entered the room.

As expected, the King and Queen did not look happy. But something else in their expressions caught his eyes…glee?

"Glad that you finally made it," his father said pleasantly, and Hector immediately tensed, knowing that he was going to blow up anytime soon. But it didn't come. "We have a surprise for you."

"What…?" Hector started to ask dumbly, but a figure stepping into his vision cut him off. She had a willowy figure, and she looked perhaps seventeen or so. Her shoulder-length blue-green hair was elegantly tied back, and her intelligent azure eyes regarded him serenely.

_Lady Fiora._

"What…what a…nice surprise," Hector stammered, catching himself just in time. He turned to his parents, trembling anger in his voice now that he had gotten over his initial shock. "I thought the visit was at least a month away…"

"Did I say that?" his father replied airily, triumphantly. "All I stated was merely that she was going to visit soon." An awkward silence fell between all of them, but Lady Fiora saved them all just before Hector popped a vein.

"I am called Fiora, milord," she said in her gentle voice, nimbly curtseying at him. "It is a pleasure to meet you in person."

"Likewise," Hector said, bowing clumsily. His worst nightmare was unfolding before his very eyes.

"And this is my servant, Lyn," she spoke again, indicating at a young woman next to her. "She will be serving quite a few residents of Castle Ostia, so that she may get used to them. Please regard her with kindness should she get lost, or does not do her job right…" She went on about the girl, but Hector didn't listen. He was too busy fantasizing how horrendous his life was about to become.

* * *

**Author's Note**: A bit rushed, but I had to get Lyn in.

Lao Who Mai: _Whoa. Thank you. I hope I didn't degrade Hector too much…_

Wandering Cat: _I'm surprised that you're reading this, since Hector is the main character of this story. Anyway, thank you for your review!_

Reviews and constructive critisms are always appreciated!


	3. Lyn

**Bound  
**

* * *

_Lyn_

* * *

"Wake up," a voice said rudely, breaking through the blank emptiness in his head.

"Go away…" Hector groaned without opening his eyes, turning around in his bed. It was still too early, blast it!

"Wake up," the voice insisted. "Your morning _feast_ is ready."

"Go away," he repeated in a growl, burying his face into the pillow to drown it out. He desperately longed to go back to sleep, but whoever it is wouldn't let him.

"Hurry up or their _Royal Highnesses_ will be displeased," the voice taunted, and he sprang up angrily.

"Leave me alone, you hear!" he snapped. "I don't—" He drifted off in mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. Now that he was actually awake he could see the speaker. And what he saw did not make him happy.

"You…you're that, er…servant," he said roughly, trying to remember. Being still somewhat asleep, he could not quite recall her name. But what he _did_ know was that he did not like her at all, from the top of her green-haired head to the tip of her gaudily decorated shoes.

Her eyes suddenly flared up dangerously, and his sluggish, groggy brain barely registered his catastrophic mistake before she exclaimed angrily, "Servant? Ha! Ha! How typical, o glorious Ostian _Prince_, one of great intelligence! No, for your information, Almighty _Lycian_ Lordling1, I am but a lowly _slave_ to the Lady Fiora, not fit to even tread upon her _shadows_." Her speech positively dripped with sarcasm, and he had enough consciousness to sense that, at least.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it, then?" he shot back, managing to sound just as mocking as her. Yesterday's events came flooding back to him, unwelcome and hellish as the devil himself. Oh yes, he remembered her now, the one Lady Fiora introduced as her servant. Her name was…Lana? Something to that effect. Well, he did not like her cocky stance and expression yesterday (or rather, he felt that he would have, had he been paying attention), and he had no reason to like it today, especially when she – a servant, slave, whatever – talked back so rudely to him. A prince, to say the least. "Would you like me to appoint you to a position in the Ostian Court, Lana?" Second mistake. If looks can kill, Hector would have died at least a dozen times already.

"Lana? _Lana_!" she crowed, catching him by surprise. At her derisive laugh his famed short temper flickered to life, but before he could say anything in his own defense, she cut him off, glaring spitefully at him. "My name is Lyn. Get it right," she snapped. "And no, I don't want to be a part of your _noble_ court, no thanks for the offer," she added nastily. Hector groaned inwardly. Their argument was going nowhere. He was just wasting time and energy, and he didn't have a lot to spare, especially so early in the morning with an empty stomach. Perhaps it was better if the servants remained quiet and timid, rather than open and malicious. It certainly made his life easier. Somewhat.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," he said. "Why are you here?" Whatever she was here for, he just wanted to get it over with. And plus, it was plain that she didn't want to be here. And it wasn't like he enjoyed her company anyway.

"I told you," Lyn said edgily, her eyebrow arching irritably. "Your morning _feast_ is ready. Your parents are waiting for you." He growled, still not liking her tone.

"Tell them I don't feel well," he said, pulling the sheets back on himself again. Which was a good thing, because Lyn's expression had just gone from sour to fuming.

"You lords are all the same!" she exclaimed unexpectedly, causing him to look up in surprise. "Do this, do that. Self-centered, nagging, and egotistic! Yes, Your Highness, I will do as you ask!" She stormed out of the room in quite a hurry, leaving him to stare after her, open-mouthed. _What_ had he done wrong now? She was a slave—what was the big deal?

He was about to fall asleep when a sudden bang at the door woke him up for the second time this morning. A dread sort of feeling filled his stomach, and sure enough, there she was, standing in his room, looking angrier than ever.

"They didn't want you to miss your precious breakfast, so here it is," she said, snapping the food-filled tray onto the night table beside him. "Enjoy your food."

He peered at it closely—eggs, bacon, bread, butter, and milk. Nothing out of the ordinary. Lyn snorted, sensing his thoughts. "I didn't poison it, if that's what you're thinking."

"Considering that it's you," Hector retorted, hiding his embarrassment at being caught so easily, "I wouldn't be surprised if it had been." Her green eyes flashed again, and this time, he knew that he had made a definite mistake.

"_I_ am a Sacaen," she snapped, her eyes glaring with a fierce pride. "We Sacaens are nothing like you nobles, craven and spineless. We are righteous and honest. We would never to something so cowardly as to poison someone's food." He scowled, then coughed, covering up his anger at her insult.

"All right, all right, fine. I get your point!" Hector cried, throwing his hands into the air. He had had enough—he just wanted her out now. "Go away and let me eat in peace!"

She glared at him. "I wish. Their _Royal Highnesses_ and Lady Fiora wants me to serve you exclusively." Hector's eyebrows knitted together. Knowing his parents, they were after something.

"Do you happen know why?" he mumbled between bites of his bread. There was a brief pause.

"Lady Fiora wants me to find _favor_ with the _prince_," she said finally, in a disgusted tone. He almost spat his milk out.

"_What_!"

"Not _that_ kind of favor, dolt," she said crossly, reading his thoughts once again. Then she smirked. "You know, for a prince, you're kind of crude." It was his turn to glare.

"Thanks," he replied sarcastically, spearing his eggs with his fork. "I get that a lot." She smiled maliciously in return, and his scowl deepened. Oh, how he wished that he was back a day, when he did not have an annoying shadow glowering down at him as he ate his breakfast. He began to eat quicker, figuring that once he was done, she would go away and do whatever slaves do around here, and he would be free from her for the rest of the day. But not quite so…

"I thought it was breakfast-only!" came Hector's protest. And sure enough, there Lyn stood, in front of him, her face as almost red as in the prince.

"And I would be dancing with joy if it only were!" Lyn shouted back. Her hands were curled into fists, and she was glaring spitefully up at him. He groaned despairingly.

"You mean, all day long?" he asked, a gloomy note creeping into his voice. Lyn snorted.

"Yes, how many times do I have to repeat myself?" she snapped. "And believe me, I did not beg for this, either."

"Blast it," he snarled, trudging his way toward the library, due for his history lessons. And Lyn followed him, making sure that she was a good distance behind him. Blast his parents, blast Lady Fiora who placed this…this burden upon him! Why won't they just leave him alone!

_But maybe_, Hector thought as he nearly tore the library doors open, _maybe if I ignored her she'd be at least somewhat tolerable…_ Which was quite the wrong way to go, when dealing with the spitting hellcat, as he was soon about to find out. History lesson went like this:

Teacher: (lecturing Hector about the history of Ostia)

Hector: (feeling thirsty) Do you mind if I get a cup of water?

Teacher: Of course not. You there—(pointing at Lyn) Get His Highness a cup of water.

Lyn: (disdainfully) Of course, anything for your Royal Highness. (gets a goblet, deliberately pours slowly)

Hector: (dying with thirst) Hurry it up, will you?

Teacher: (glare) Your Highness, one of the virtues of a royalty is patience.

Hector: (shoots a glare at Lyn) Sorry. My apologies.

Lyn: (scathingly places the goblet in front of Hector) Here it is. (goes back to her corner)

Hector: (checking to make sure that there's no poison)

Teacher: (raising an eyebrow) Your Highness?

Hector: Sorry. (drinks)

Even getting something to drink was this difficult. Hector lived in constant fear of Lyn slipping some kind of poison into his food and drinks—after all, her hatred for nobles was evident; who was to stop her from poisoning him, even if she claimed to be a "honest Sacaen"? No one has ever directly said to his face that Sacaens were savage and vulgar, but from the way nobles talked of the plainspeople, it was apparent that they did not hold the nomads in their highest regards. And Hector thought, no smoke without a fire, right?

And if history lesson was bad enough, his combat training was worse. It was hard enough trying to concentrate on swinging a heavy hammer—his combat arts teacher, Oswin, thought him ready for hammers, which are much harder to control and use—without someone looking down at you and sneering at you when you made the slightest of mistakes. Especially for Hector, who was completely unused to being made fun of.

"Milord?" came Oswin's voice, breaking through his thoughts. "If you do not concentrate, you will lose your balance and fall." A heavy thud greeted his advice.

"Ow…" said Hector, trying to untangle himself from his hammer. Why did they make these blasted things so big and heavy? "Sorry—what?" Oswin sighed.

"Never mind," he said, lowering his own weapon. "Milord, I think it is enough for today." To Hector's joy.

"Thank you!" the prince cried in an undignified way. When Oswin gave him a queer look, and Hector, realizing his mistake, quickly corrected himself. "Uh, thank you for the lesson today. Good day, Lord Oswin." The knight nodded in satisfaction and exited the training grounds, and Hector threw down his hammer and sighed, frustrated.

He must be a perfectly mannered gentleman, patient, kind, calm, and wise. He knew that he was none of those things—unlike his late brother. But everyone expected him to be, ever since Uther had came to his untimely end in a particularly bloody battle. Everyone, including his parents, compared Hector with his brother, and clucked their all-knowing tongues whenever he stepped a toe out of the line. He told himself over and over again that he did not care about what others thought, but he wasn't so sure. When Uther was alive, Hector used looked up to him for guidance and wisdom—now he was growing to hate him, his shadow, the burden he placed on his two shoulders. Sometimes it was too much, and he wished that he were born a commoner, rather than a crown prince. Then people wouldn't care about winning his favors, or throw themselves at his feet, expecting him to shower them with gifts, or other honors, and he wouldn't have to act so stiff and be bound by the rules—

"Prince Hector," Lyn broke in, and Hector lost his train of thoughts for the second time. "It is nearly time for dinner feast." He looked up. In his moment of anger, her face looked cruel, twice as malicious as it did during his history lesson.

"I know!" he spat, and her expression twisted. But he didn't care right now, even though his voice was already harsh from their numerous clashes; he would almost be glad if they could have another argument, anything to distract him from his present thoughts—

"Hurry up and go in, then," she said dangerously, and spoke no more. Altogether unexpected, but he had no time to dwell upon it at the moment. Whirling around and without another word, he marched back into the castle. He did not see Lyn until the end of the dinner.

* * *

****

****

******Author's Note**: (bangs her head on the keyboard) asldfh;h'qwet...Awful. This chapter was terrible. Nevertheless, I enjoyed writing it. 8D;;; Sorry for the long no-update! (continues banging)

Lao Who Mai: _Um...does that mean I should apologize for the predictability? 8D;;; Teehee. But I didn't want Lyn to be a nobility--sorta. Will be explained in later chapters. (evil laughter) So keep reading! (kidding.)_

Miss Krux: _Heehee. Thank you!_

Wandering Cat: _Waah! You don't like Hector at all and you're STILL reading it? I must strive to write better, in that case! _

Lavender Raine: _Thank you for your review! (feels special) _

Reviews and constructive criticisms are always appreciated!


	4. Punishment

**Bound**

* * *

_Punishment_

* * *

Never-ending sea of green and blue . . . immense freedom. Endless happiness. A storm comes, moving slowly across the infinite horizon. It whips pleasantly at his face, his body, and he smiles, welcoming the caressing sensation – stone walls suddenly rise all around him. He shouts, unable to get out. He rages, he curses, he strikes at it; nothing works, the walls keep closing around him, suffocating him, killing him –

Hector's eyes flew open. Cold sweat was breaking on his back. It was light in his room, way past dawn. There was none of the overpowering darkness. He hesitantly lifted a hand, and touched his face, making sure that he was dreaming no longer. He had the oddest tingling sensation in his stomach, and he rolled over on his soft white sheets, intending to hurl. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. False alarm. Still perspiring considerably, he reeled back to his previous position, his eyes looking blankly up at the high white marble ceiling. His eyes scanned the surface, richly decorated with multiple crystalline chandeliers, making sure that they were not about to collapse on top of him.

He was afraid shut his eyes, even as the feeling of deep despair began to fade, fearful that the nightmare – well, a dream and a nightmare, for it started out rather enjoyably – might come back. As the details of the dream began to slip between his fingers, he tried to recall it desperately. It appeared that it held a message, of ominous sorts, almost. He looked around his room blankly as he thought, seeing the luxurious red-and-gold furniture, but drinking in none of the details. Something seemed amiss. But how could it be? Everything was here; his full shelf, almost as big as a wall, his plush scarlet royal chairs, his hand-carved dresser drawer, his rich mahogany work desk – everything.

His eyes at last landed on the rich brown doors, and his mind drifted to the empty sensation in his stomach. The two clicked together.

_It's past breakfast time_, he realized, his stomach growling, and the last thoughts of his dream were pushed out of his mind.

"Where is that blasted girl?" he growled, but immediately wished that he hadn't. Royalties weren't supposed to condemn, not even their own servants. And Lyn wasn't even his – she was Lady Fiora's, as she had so unpleasantly informed him.

For the past two weeks she had brought breakfast to his quarters and thus waking him up way too early, to neither of their liking; his morning peace was constantly broken by their endless bickering, starting after dawn, his breakfast time, to sunset, dinnertime. And not even dogs liked to be disturbed during their meals, let alone a crown prince of a powerful nation. He snorted, throwing the sheets aside and moving to his mirrored closet for a new set of clothes. He wondered how Lyn survived, as a slave, no less, with that sharp tongue of hers.

He glanced out the window as he changed into indigo tunics, and was surprised to find the sun almost directly overhead. It was almost noon, and still Lyn had not come? His stomach gave another painful growl. He could not wait for lunch; he was too hungry. He supposed that he would have to sneak down to the kitchens, for a quick snack. He sincerely hoped that there were no guards around the kitchen. Sneaking food was frowned upon, especially by his parents, though he had done it many times before. But this time, it was different. He was expected to act more responsibly, now that his fiancée (or so his parents wanted her to be) was officially meeting the nobles and introducing herself to the kingdom with his mother, as the wife of the future king of Ostia. Somehow, having a wife marked a milestone of sorts, and you were supposed to act maturely from then on.

He sighed. He didn't care overmuch, to tell the truth. But he did not want to disappoint his parents. Not now, when they were so excited and eager. He let out a low groan, being reminded of his difficult situation. How was he going to break the news to them? _He did not want to get married_. If defying them outright didn't work, he didn't know what would.

As he clasped his blue cloak around his broad shoulders, he cautiously pushed the heavy door, and it gave a high-pitched creak as it swung open. He looked left and right down the torch-lit stone hallway, and seeing no guards nearby, strode down the left corridor. Even though the sun was high overhead, with the torches almost-burnt out, casting an ominous, lingering shadow to the paintings hanging on the walls. Grey mist seemed to swirl gently before his image, and he felt a sudden thrill go down his spine as he walked the twisting and turning labyrinth.

"Coward," he muttered to himself, disgusted by his own uneasiness. "It is nothing but a trick of the eye!" Throwing back his shoulders and lifting his gaze haughtily in an effort to make himself braver, he marched – yes, marched; his bootsteps rebounded loudly off the rose-colored marble ceilings. But a louder, sharper echoes cut through his rhythm and drowned his footsteps, and Hector found himself halted before the corner that led to the kitchens, listening to the odd sounds.

"Filth!" a voice was snarling, and the quick noise came again. There was a sick, squelching-like sound following immediately. "That ought to teach you, wretched beast – running your mouth off at me –" It took him a split second to realize that someone was being whipped. Though he was a warrior, he detested needless violence; in other words, torture. Without thinking, he jumped into the scene, roaring blindly.

"_Stop_!" he bellowed, and the guard, who had the metal-tipped whip raised, stopped in mid-swing and gaped at him. A dreadfully battered figure stood in front of them, bleeding from head to toe. A dark circle was forming at its feet, about the size of a dinner plate. He cast it a swift glance, and looked back up at the frozen guard, horrified and furious. "Drop it!"

"But, sir . . . ," the guard fumbled hysterically, his face ashen. He was terrified of the prince, who, at the moment, had fire spitting from his eyes and teeth bared in a deadly snarl. He gathered up his courage to speak; after all, he had done nothing, merely his duty. "This-this girl, this filth . . . she spoke against me, sir, and the kingdom—"

"I don't care!" Hector growled, taking slow, threatening steps toward the guard. His hand moved menacingly toward the sword at his side, and his voice deepened sinisterly. "You do not raise a hand against the helpless! Drop it, lout, and run for your life before I decide to cleave you into two!" He didn't need telling twice. Nearly dropping to his knees, the guard scampered off with his tail between his legs. Hector watched him go, a strong disgust in his expression – until a thud from his back drew his attention. An aqua-blue clad figure was crumpled on the cold stone floor surrounded by broken fragments of once-fine china and clumps of food, the brightly colored robes slowly staining crimson. Cuts and bruises were everywhere on the delicate figure, and its teal hair was fanned about it, soaking in dark red. He quickly kneeled by its side, his brows furrowed with worry.

"Lyn! Lyn!" he called, not daring to break one of the society's major rules; that a nobleman may not touch a servant, no matter what. "Can you hear me?" Her eyes were heavily lidded, hiding her emerald eyes effectively. A light groan escaped her lips, but otherwise, she remained still. Hector frantically chewed on his lower lip, his mind running through his options. He couldn't run around the castle carrying her, looking for a healer. That was foolish as well as dangerous. What if she had broken something? He'd only make it worse. Plus, someone might see.

The only thing left, then, he decided, to move her to an unused room and bring a healer to her. He dashed toward the kitchen, which was a few hundred yards around the left corner, swinging open the wooden doors. A servant with a precariously balancing pile of dishes weighing down his arms cried out his alarm as Hector rushed by him. The prince, normally, would have apologized – well, he wouldn't have been caught _running_ into the kitchen in the first place – but at the moment, he was a bit preoccupied. Grabbing the arm of the nearest available servant out of the mass that filled the vast space, a green-haired fellow, he quickly summed up what had happened.

"There's a servant who's been whipped senseless, and she needs help. Can you carry her to a room near mine?" he gushed hurriedly in his rush almost missing the flash of the man's somber eyes.

"Lyn?" he asked, his tone low. Hector nodded impatiently, too busy to wander how in the world the man knew. "Show me." Normally, Hector would have been annoyed at the imperious tone of his voice, but today, he just shot out of the kitchen, the servant following closely behind him.

"There," Hector pointed her out in the middle of the stone hall as soon as the turned the corner, but the man was already halfway there.

"Lyn," the servant called quietly, taking her hand as he kneeled by her side. He turned her arm so that her palm was facing up. With his forefinger and middle, he rested it gently on her wrist. Meanwhile, Hector stood a few feet away, feeling helpless in his usefulness-minus state.

After what seemed like a nerve-racking eternity, the servant set Lyn's hand down. Wetting his same two fingers slightly, he placed them over Lyn's mouth with a slight frown. Hector had barely counted to eight when the man stood up, still looking unhappy about something.

"She has her pulse and she still breathes," he said slowly, "but it is shallow." Hector nodded.

"She needs a healer," he said, fumbling around his robes for a small, silken bag where he kept his money and such. From the indigo pocket he drew a golden key, as big as his palm, its handle encrusted with diamonds. "This is a master key," he said, handing it to the servant. "You know where my room is, right?" The man bobbed just once. "Good. There's an unused room if you continue down the same hallway my room's in. Take her to it. I think it's usually unlocked, but you never know." He nodded again, taking the key in silence.

With that out of the way, Hector sprinted down the corridors, leaving the two behind. After he had gone many steps, a disturbing notion occurred to him – what if the servant misused the key, and stole from other rooms? _Too late now_, he thought grimly, his perspiring hands curled into great boulders of fists.

_Now which room was Serra's_? he tried to remember, but found that he couldn't. He had tried to avoid the annoying brat of a cleric all his life, but at the moment, he wished that he hadn't.

"Where are you?" he growled under his breath, frustrated. He continued to race at top speed, and the paintings seemed to blur at his side. He glanced around at the hallways, looking for any signs of the she-devil's pink pigtails, when –

"Ow! Watch where you're going!" came a shrill squeal, as Hector tripped and sprawled onto the floor. He had knocked down a figure along with him, and stared down at it in disbelief. Of all the luck . . . !

"Lord Hector, I know that you are _hopelessly_ in love with me, but would you please consider that I am a pure, virtuous, _chaste_ cleric! I mean, the dignity of it all—!"

"Serra!" Hector cried hoarsely, scrambling to his feet. He gasped incredulously. He didn't know whether he was lucky or not. "Good timing. You gotta come with me!"

"—that means you _must_ keep your hands off me, no matter how strong your _desires_ are, and no, I _will not_ come with you—"

"—a girl has been severely wounded, and she's bleeding badly—"

"—so that I could satisfy your lust, Lord Hector; that is _unspeakable_!—"

"—_she needs help right away_, _you blasted woman_!" Hector roared, and one could almost see a vein threatening to burst underneath the layer of his skin. Serra gawked for a moment, wide-eyed and surprised.

"How dare you, Lord Hector!" she shrieked from the ground, pointing a healing staff at him. "Is that any way to treat a noble lady!" He could argue the point, but he decided to drop it for now.

"You've got your staff. Good," Hector said roughly, offering a hand to help her up. "Come with me. There's a girl, wounded, and she's lost a lot of blood." Serra's amethyst eyes became as big as two gold coins.

"Why I never!" she huffed, straightening her white cleric dress out. "Then why didn't you say so earlier! Of course, normally, you should pay me for running into me and then demanding my services most ungraciously, but with my overflowing generosity, I will help you for free, just this once. Lead the way, Lord Hector!" He would have shot her a venomous look, except that he feared for Lyn's safety, so he merely jogged in front of her, leading her back toward the room.

"Slow down!" she shrieked behind him, and with a gritted sigh, he did.

* * *

"_There_," Serra said triumphantly, neatly tying the white bandages on Lyn's arm. "That about finishes it up." She beamed at the two somber men, then put her hands to her hips and huffed. "Now honestly, you two, can't you even crack a smile? She's okay now!"

A gloomy silence.

Serra rolled her eyes. "Okay, Masters Frumpy-Faces, I'm going to leave for now – Oswin'll get angry at me for being late again! – and Lord Hector, I'll come by tomorrow to change her bandages and give her medicines." She gave Hector a friendly pat on the shoulder, and with a girlish giggle, skipped out the wooden door. The green-haired servant continued to look down at Lyn's face in silence. Hector cleared his throat, feeling the need to speak.

"Uh . . . thanks for your help, er . . ."

"Rath," the man replied, so softly that Hector did not catch it the first time. "My name is Rath."

"Rath," Hector finished. His eyes drifted from Rath's face then to his clothes, brightly colored on the edges, like Lyn's was.

"I am also of plains of Sacae, as is she," Rath said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. Hector flushed scarlet – was he _that_ easy to read?

"I shall be leaving now," he said, standing up, and Hector's mind raced back to the master key that he lent him, and he glanced around, just in case Rath left it somewhere. "The key is on the table beside the bed." The crown prince could feel his blush deepening. He hadn't meant to appear to be so suspicious.

"Th-thank you again, Rath," Hector stammered, unable to look up at the tall man as he pushed the doors open.

"One must always help his fellow tribesman," he replied simply, and vanished from the corridors. Hector blinked in surprise. Not only was that man eerily silence, he also appeared to be a master of illusions. With a sigh he got up and closed the doors, making sure that they locked with a small click. He turned and glanced at the girl resting beneath robin's egg blue sheets, pale but serene, as Hector has never seen it. For once her face was not screwed up viciously from the hate of him and all his kind, hurling spiteful insults at him.

As he watched her, a final ray of the sun eluded the white curtains and fell in a single beam on Lyn's face in the dimness of the room. Her slender eyebrow gathered slightly, and with a frown, she turned over to the right. He pulled a wooden stool by her bed and gazed at her in peaceful silence. She didn't look half bad as he thought she did, he decided, when she's not angry. An intense feeling rose in him, even stronger than his fury at the guard, and it took him a moment before he realized what it was. Pity? Yes, he pitied her. Whatever was her life like, to make her so hateful toward all nobles? Surely Lady Fiora did not abuse her. What was her life like? He longed to know.

_What were you thinking, when he beat you mercilessly_? he asked her silently, to her dreams. _What are you dreaming of now_? Power? Freedom? He could not fathom. Rath said that Lyn was from the plains, too. Could she be thinking of the wild, savage lands that he heard so much about? What was her life like then?

"How did you end up here, Lyn?" He asked softly. "How did you end up in these hateful lands that you detest so much?" The unmoving face did not answer. He stared pensively down at her calm, still expression.

After a while, he got up, disappeared for a few minutes, then came back with a tray laden with a teapot, a cup of tea, a bowl of porridge, and a bowl of broth. He set it down on the small gold-rimmed table beside her bed, pocketing the master key as he did so. She would be hungry when she gets up, he thought, munching his way thoughtfully through a loaf of soft white bread. For now, he had geography lessons before dinner. But he would be back in the morning with more.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Oy everyone! (fall) I'm terrible. Sorry for the late update. I was playing other Fire Emblem game . . . one of the most pathetic excuses I've ever heard. (sigh) I loooove Lyon! I gotta write a story about him and Eirika – or can one of you? (bats eyelashes and cackles) 8D;;; (stolen smiley face) I am weird.

I also introduced two more characters this chapter. I hope they all stayed in character. :P I actually like the way this chapter turned out.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem. I can't believe I forgot this.

Lao Who Mai: _(cackle) You don't like Hector overmuch, do you?_

Miss Krux: _I already gave away too much of the story in the summary. You must read on to find out XD Oy . . . I _am_ terrible._

Wistful-Eyes: _About time you got around reading this! (is kidding) Mwahaha. She _didn't_ go unpunished. That's all I'll tell you for now, dearie. . . . So, how's the break so far?_

Link015: _You requested for a longer chapter . . . Ay. I hope this will suffice. I can't write long, though I do try._

Wandering Cat: _Oh . . . my. I don't like Eliwood either, but I tolerate. Lol. I mean, you can't exactly kill him off. And all the mysteries surrounding Lyn's origin and other things will be clear . . . in the later chapters. (is vaguely hinting that you must read on and be patient with her terribleness at writing) I _am_ evil._

kuzuryuzen08: _He'll be here soon. (evil laughter)_

Dreamer of Riddles (x3): _Puppet Master. Not too bad. XD Well, I did want to emphasize their characters, but I didn't mean to blow them up, which I think is what I'm doing. I tried to put in more details XO Eep. I'm absolutely horrible at that._

azn pride alwayz: Hilarious? . . . I just hope that none of the devoted Lyn-fans read this. . . . (nervous laughter) I forgot that I'm a Lyn fan myself. XD

Reviews and constructive criticisms are always appreciated!


	5. The land called Sacae

**Bound**

**

* * *

**

_The land called Sacae_

_

* * *

_

"Prince Hector?" Hector let out a short outtake of breath, sheepish that he had been caught with his mind wandering. He let his azure eyes focus again on the dusty surroundings of the royal library, the fading curtains -- which were going to be changed soon, they've been hanging for far too long -- and at a mildly disapproving history teacher.

"My apologies. Could you repeat that again?" he requested, and with a light sigh, the teacher continued with his lecture of the Golden Age of Ostia, where the kingdom was at its peak of power. The kingdom was still the strongest nation, however, though it may have weakened since then.

"During the Golden Age, Ostia prospered under the cunning King Lamorac, who was also known as the Warrior-King, for he waged constant wars with his surrounding countries. Under his rule Kingdom Ostia became at its greatest size; however, the general population's lives became increasingly more difficult due to the constant wars. His son, the Prince Roland, later to be King Roland, was, unlike his father, a wise, gentle soul who brought peace to the conquered lands as well as to Ostia . . ." Before long, Hector's eyes glazed over, half-listening to the teacher and half-remembering.

* * *

_For several days afterwards Lyn suffered from high fever, with Hector watching when he came and visited, as often as he could (and when Serra would allow it). She drifted in and out of troubled sleep, calling out strange names to the empty ceiling. "Father!" and "Grandfather!" were one of the most frequently shouted, and among the few that he can understand. But one name dominated over all of them, and the one that he found most unusual._

_"Sacae . . ." she would sigh, her voice thick with tangled emotions; longing, passionate, pained, and wistful. He thought it amazing that one so ill could be so fervent on a singular subject. He wanted to ask her possibly what in the world could possibly be fascinating about a land filled with wild, unruly grass, even more than orderly, civilized countries such as Ostia and Ilia. But she was too sick to even recognize him, and besides, Serra would have his head if he bothered any of her patients; he had to be content with wondering, wondering and wondering what drew her toward the land called the Sacaen Plains._

_

* * *

_

Another sigh, more prominent and irritated than the last time. "Prince Hector, the lesson is over." For the second time today, Hector was forced out of his reverie. He found himself in the ancient library once more, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes half-lidded. He quickly forced his lips into a grim line, and blinked the lingering images away, embarrassed with himself. Once was understandable, but twice? Even he knew that this sort of behavior could not be tolerated.

"Sorry. It won't happen again," he promised, hurriedly putting the lesson books back on the shelf and trailed out of the narrow spaces between bookcases. He felt the teacher's eyes glaring after him, though he didn't look back. Didn't need to -- he knew what everyone thought and required of him. And he knew that he was failing miserably, and not living up to their standards. He hurried his steps, a scorching feeling burning at his sides.

Once out the doors and in the corridors, he hesitated. He had his sword lessons with Oswin in an hour, so really, he should go and get ready, but he haven't checked up on Lyn since they relocated her (as in Serra and Rath, though mostly Rath, because the blasted woman was complaining how a lady of her statue should not do manual labor --) to a more secretive room in an obsecure part of the castle, which was two days ago. She seemed to be getting better; he wanted to make sure that it stayed that way.

His emerald-green cloak flowed after him as he hurried down the path he chose. It would be tight, considering his schedule, but he was only going to check up on her, then leave.

When he reached the right room, he didn't even bother knocking on the door to warn the occupants of his arrival, as whoever was in there wasn't even supposed to be there unless it were Rath, Serra, or Lyn. He threw the door open, and regretted it, as he hurriedly caught a crystal vase on the table which was in danger of tumbling off. He half-expected the pink-haired cleric's chiding voice to reprimand him -- "For the love of St. Elimine, Lord Hector, you could even wake the dead with your fumbling ways! Now shoo, shoo!" -- but, alas, she wasn't here (and he privately noted his own sarcasm).

Lyn was lying on a large, but simple bed with a yellowing sheet covering her, aging and shabby from neglect. The entire room was chocking-full of dust; except for the bed, which have been cleaned thoroughly by Serra, who worried that Lyn might accidentally inhale the inches of the gray fluff and suffocate to death. Which was ridiculous in Hector's view, but she was a healer, and he was not, so maybe her seemingly childish insistences were true. Then again, it _was _Serra . . .

_Ah, well, it couldn't hurt to keep things clean_, he thought idly as he placed the vase back on the little table, being careful not to break anything else in the room -- which was difficult, seeing how what little was here were all so brittle -- as he made his way to the bed. Since the chamber was sparsely furnished, he had to be content with standing by her side, for the fear of breaking the only wooden (and creaking) chair.

He studied her features in the cloudy haze, as the late-afternoon rays shined through the open windows, warming the forgotten room with its brilliance. Her cheeks still held a feverish blush to them, though it was not as glaring as the first few days of her illness. Her normally-sharp eyes were hidden by her lids, fluttering gently with each even breath she took. It then suddenly struck him how different she looked from the high-borns from surrounding countries such as Pherae, Araphen, or Caelin, yet still similar. He would have spent minutes, maybe hours on end, pondering, had not Lyn's brilliant green-blue eyes snapped open.

"Serra?" the servant said, her voice scratchy and hoarse from disuse. Then her eyes seemed to focus on his sheer size, and the green eyes became alert, almost suspicious. "Oh, it's you." Her tone wasn't exactly hostile, yet it wasn't welcoming or friendly, either. He was still offended, and slightly more than irritated -- after all, he _was _the Crown Prince of Ostia, and he was not used to being spoken to like so.

He folded his arms defensively across his torso, a brief scowl twisting his features. "I would have apologized for that blasted idiot's behavior, had you your senses earlier," he informed her, and it was true. You couldn't exactly strike a conversation with a raving lunatic. Well, maybe she wasn't a lunatic.

She made an attempt at a contemptuous snort, but seemed to stop herself. "Thanks," she said dryly, her face unreadable. Then came -- "for nothing." There was a definite scowl on Hector's lips now.

"I did try," he protested to the recovering Sacaen on the bed. "I brought Serra to you!" He paused briefly. For as a great healer the woman was, her attitude could force any hardened criminal to run in opposite direction, screaming in genuine terror. So he wasn't sure if that counted for anything.

But to his surprise, she let out a small sigh and rolled her eyes in defeat. "I can't argue with that," he heard her mutter, which caused a fleeting moment of annoyance in him. It was almost as if she _lived _to contradict him every turn. Come to think of it, so did everyone else. His life was just a big tangle made of constant disappointments and lies, with bits of headaches thrown into the mess. As much as Hector loved his late brother Uther, he sometimes hated the man for leaving with a great legacy that was hard to follow up to.

"Well," Lyn said suddenly, sitting up and leaning against the bedpost, "if you have no other business, I'd like some rest." He raised an eyebrow.

"Meaning with me in here you can't?" he replied sarcastically, and she threw him a look that was just as cynical.

"If you want to think like that, then yes," she said, reaching for a goblet full of clear water. She took a long drink from the draught, and then placed it back on the night table beside her, her expression much refreshed. She lidded her eyes as she pulled the sheets around herself, her gesture indicating that his visiting session was over, but there was a question nagging him at the back of his mind.

"What's Sacae like?" he blurted out suddenly, which seemed to get her attention, as her eyes flew open.

"Excuse me?" she said, as if unable to believe what she was hearing. Slowly, he repeated his question again.

"What's Sacae like? You always mentioned the place in your fever-spell, and Rath seems to be unable to let go of it." She regarded him with a renewed interest, which left him feeling slightly embarrassed -- what was so unusual about asking a question?

"You truly want to know?" she asked, seemingly mildly surprised by his curiosity. The ever-short temper of the prince flared, as her attitude said it all: _The arrogant aristocrat can actually think_?

"Look, if you don't want to tell me, then you don't have to--" he started to snap angrily, but he immediately fell silent when Lyn's quiet, even tones cut through his own.

"You've never been there, have you?" she began wistfully, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just interrupted him. "I don't think you'll understand, then. Most people think it's a useless wasteland with weeds sprouting everywhere--" here her eyes flared "--but it's so full of life other than grass. There are the short trees that have survived the winds, outside of the forests. The wildflowers, bushes, little animals . . . it's a great place for horse riding. Rolling hills cover the land, and in the autumn under a full moon, the grass seem to take on a silver sheen. When you stand on a high ground, watching the wind sweep by, it's almost like a sea, the way those grass seem to beckons to you . . ." Her eyes took on a fierce glint and her cheeks began to glow, and immediately, Hector knew that she was homesick. Silence settled as Lyn dreamt on, her eyes softening and becoming misty with each growing second.

He coughed, having yet another question about the 'savage' lands. "What do the people do there?" Lyn looked startled, as if she had forgotten that he existed, and was in the same room with her. She pondered on his inquiry, sorting out how to best answer it.

"Whatever you want to do," she said slowly, her knuckles growing white as she gripped at the sheets. "The children learn how to ride horses and archery, but they also roll on the green grass and let the Sister Wind caress their hair." Hector jerked slightly, experiencing a deja vu-like sensation. Where had he heard this before . . . ? He frowned, trying to remember. Perhaps in a book, or a dream, as nobles don't generally talk of such things, he decided, as Lyn went on.

"I used to listen to my father's stories as a child in between gathering food and practicing with a sword. With my mother and grandfather, as well. Inside the tent, I would sit on the bed with mother, and father would pull up a chair beside it, telling us stories. Grandfather usually sat at a far end in his favorite chair, which I also loved, since it was a soft, violet one. He would pretend to be sleeping, but I knew that he was interested in the stories just as I was. I think he's had a quiet life before he came to Sacae," she finished thoughtfully, her mind traveling to her past. Hector found himself nodding slowly, the Sacaen Plains beginning to intrigue him more and more.

And for the first time, the two shared an almost-civil conversation, and sat in a peaceful silence, each left to their own thoughts. Hector began to paint an image in his mind, entirely different from the view of most nobles in his lands, where Sacae was a Wasteland with a capital W. The nobles generally scoffed at the nomadic population, casting them aside as vulgar and uncivilized. He would have gone on thinking the same, as well, had he not met more-gentle side of Lyn, as well as the quiet Rath, he supposed.

How long had he sat there, musing over the mysterious land? The sun was shining a dazzling scarlet when his mind wandered back to the present. He exhaled slowly, as one who was waking from a peaceful dream, gazing at the beautiful sunset.

Sunset.

Oswin.

Hector sprang up from his seat, and nearly sprinted out the door. How long has he been visiting? For three hours, at least!

"Where are you going?" Lyn called after him, startled by his sudden burst of activity.

"Sword lesson! I was supposed to be there two hours ago!" he answered without looking back, still remembering to lock the door in his haste. He had to change into his practice armor, and hurry down to the grounds -- he didn't want to find out what Oswin was like when he was mad!

* * *

**Author's Note**: Whooo! I FINALLY updated! Thank you for those who have reviewed, and thanks for not giving up on this story! And, yes, notice that Hector and Lyn are not the best of friends suddenly. I thought it'd be more realistic that way. For those of you who has been expecting something more . . . I'm sorry! Throw no rocks at me, please. oo;

P.S. I don't have MS Word anymore, so if you spot any mistakes, don't hesitate to tell me.

Link015: _Gah! I still have to read your story. -slaps self- I'll get to it now! -hops off-_

_Miss Krux (x2): Wai! I'm sorry! X.X Forgive me. I just couldn't find enough inspiration for this chapter. (Rewrote it three times . . . gah. XD) If you are indeed still reading this, sorry, and I'll try not to make it happen again!_

Wandering Cat: _-nod- I will bear it in mind . . . (insert evil laughter here)_

Dreamer of Riddles: _Ho'crap! You like this? XD Yayness! And sorry for the last review. I was in really, really long review (for me) mood. -jumps off a cliff-_

Lao Who Mai: _True, true. But the parents are so certain that Hector will follow their wishes. Why? Because they're King and Queen! . . . -awkward pause, cough- 8D;;_

lilylisa31: _Ah! Thank you! I hope this was soon enough. 8D;;;;;;;;; - . . . cough again-_

azn pride alwayz: _Whee! Tis a prettyful signed review. Thank you!_

Reviews and constructive criticisms are always appreciated!


	6. Of Swords

**Bound**

* * *

_Of Swords_

* * *

Sunlight.

"Bloody hell . . ." Hector groaned as the sun shone in his eyes. Last night was a blur, nothing more than a part of his endless days as Ostia's prince. The only clear thing, the only tangible thing that he remembered – tale of Sacae. The green grass . . . Sister Wind . . . it was all so distant yet familiar, like a pleasant memory longing to be remembered.

For a while, he dwelled on the thought, staring up at the high ceiling, his hands clutching the soft, white sheets. He suddenly shook his head and sprang up; he seemed to be spacing out a lot these days.

"Well, it's not exactly easy losing sleep," he muttered, quickly changing into his training clothes. Normally, he wouldn't have prepared this early for a lesson, but he did so love his sword training sessions. Anything to get even with Eliwood, anything! He couldn't stand being _two points_ behind in their game. Two points. All thanks to Eliwood's stupid rapier. Maybe he should get one. But he loved his Wolf Beil too much to do so.

"Prince Hector!" The door slammed open, and Hector jumped just as he was about to put on his cloak.

"Oswin! What are you – why are you – _can't I get any privacy around here_!" he sputtered angrily. Honestly, all these people coming and going to and from his room – it _had_ to stop!

"I apologize, my lord," said the orange-clad knight, "but quite a few of us were worried, since you slept straight from nightfall to late afternoon –" Hector blinked in shock.

"Nightfall to sunset? What are you talking about? It's only early afternoon," he said. Oswin stared, then cleared his throat.

"Actually, Lord Hector . . ." he trailed off, leaving the prince in no doubt as to what time of the day it was.

"What! Why didn't anyone _wake_ me!"

Oswin raised a brow. "We have tried, my lord, however, once you awoke, you changed, then collapsed onto the bed and slept again. At least, from what I've heard." Hector felt his cheeks flush. It was true. He had gone straight to sleep with his armor on – he wondered why he hadn't woken up in the middle of the night.

"If Your Highness wishes," the knight went on, "the king has allowed for the rest of your day to be free, since my lord obviously needs it." Hector scowled and growled, but perhaps a free day – well, half-day – would do him some good.

"Yeah, whatever," he said, waving the knight away. "Tell Father my thanks." Oswin bowed as he went out.

"Of course, my lord." The doors slowly closed.

Hector contemplated. A free day; it was a rare treat, something that he had not had in a while. So what to do with his time . . . ?

* * *

"Hyaaa – !" _Thuck_.

And what better way to spend one's day than to spend it on training, so that in their next match, Hector can best Eliwood and his annoying rapier?

Of course, one cannot train unless one can get his sword out of the tree.

Which is the predicament Hector seems to be in now.

"Nng – useless tree! Bloody, rubbish, troublesome, pain-in-the –" He gave the tree a hard, frustrated kick.

"Kyaaaaa!" _Thump_!

In what appeared to be a tangle of various body parts and cloaks, a stream of teal hair stood out most brilliantly. Which were mostly going into his eyes. Bloody women and their bloody, long hair –

"Watch what you're doing, you –" An angry river of curses in a foreign language began to spout from the girl's mouth, just before she realized who it was. YES woman, it was _the_ prince that you were talking to. Finally. "– Oh." A simple, lilting, 'oh', just like the very presence of Hector explained everything.

Like . . . he was the bane of her very existence . . . or something along those lines.

He didn't deserve this.

He was a _prince_. Prince of the greatest kingdom on Elibe.

Plus he hadn't done anything harmful as of yet. Today. Sort of.

"– sorry for lashing out like that, but it _was_ your f – hey, are you _listening_ to me?" Hector turned his gaze back to Lyn, confused and bewildered. He had lost track of her ranting quite some time ago.

"Huh?" he said. She let out a growling scream-like noise which reminded Hector of one of those pet-monkeys that various lords kept. He never understood their fixation, actually. He would have rather preferred a pegasus, or one of the brutish wyverns, even. Monkeys were extremely annoying and practically useless in battles –

"I _said_," she said with a hint of her old arrogance as she struggled to free herself from various loose armors and cloaks and such, "I apologize about my mouth, but you had given me a rather rude awakening." She dusted her bright-blue Sacaen dress off after she tossed her greenish cloak behind her back, a slight scowl twisting her features. Hector gave an equally aggravated, if not worse so, scowl, though it was less menacing, admittedly, as he had yet to get up from the ground yet.

"Well, I did not _know_ that you would be up this particular tree, and if anything, I expected you to prance around the – hey, what _are_ you doing out anyway?" Hector asked with the barest concern touching his tone. Don't get him wrong! It wasn't as if he – he actually _cared_ for her or anything, he just didn't want her collapsing all over the castle. Plus, she had barely recovered the last time (yesterday) he visited her, from the fever . . . and everything.

To his eternal frustration, a small, haughty smile tugged at her lips. "My _lord_, you give your underlings far less credit than they deserve," she said in an ironic voice, and he half-expected her to give him a mocking bow to go along with her charade. But he now knew better than that, that even in her scornful acts she will never bend to a foreign lord.

And just what did she mean by that anyway?

"What do you mean?" he said, echoing the question in his mind. To his genuine puzzlement, Lyn's brows shot up, regarding him reproachfully as he straightened himself up. ". . . What?" She sighed.

"You really _are_ dense, aren't you," she said. It wasn't even a question, but more a statement. And it caused Hector to scowl very heavily again. Just what did she mean by that? And just when he had thought it would be actually safe to talk to her without a twenty-feet wall between them. He would never understand women, Sacaen, noble, old, young, or not.

"Serra is more capable with her staff than you give her credit for," she said, her tone disapproving. "Apparently you think that she's a pink bundle of annoying, worthless –"

Had she been one of his poor, defenseless, royal pillows, he would have a) given it a good pounding, b) screamed into it, and/or c) threw it across the room. Preferably into a nice, roaring fireplace. He could only take the let's-blame-Prince-Hector-for-every-problems thing for a certain amount of time, after all.

But, alas, Lyn was not one of his luxurious royal pillows, and even if she were, pillows couldn't talk, so he wouldn't be in this situation anyway. So instead, he settled for digging the toes of his leather boots into the hard, dusty training ground with barely anything growing around it.

"I know that," he replied defensively, scratching his shoulder where the impact of the metal shoulder-plate and the ground faintly echoed through his bones. "But it's _Serra_, and she has a tendency to blow everything up, say, two hundred times their actual proportions, and no one in their right mind would take in everything she says, word-for word." She sighed again, though this time, seemingly more to herself than as a rebuke for him.

"Well, I kind of figured that, after five minutes in her company . . . but that's beside the point. I still say that this thing is your fault," she said stubbornly, folding her arms across her chest, going back to their previous argument. "Why would you go around attacking innocent trees, anyway?" He snorted. Innocent? This bloody tree right here? Doubtful.

"It swallowed up my sword and wouldn't give it back," he said truthfully. She stared at him, with a shocked expression on her face – then she began to laugh. And it wasn't like one of those small, delicate, lady-like laughs, either; this was from depths of her stomach, and she doubled over, clutching at her lower body.

Which, naturally, got him annoyed. What was so funny about this situation? The bloody tree ate up his sword. He had wanted to set the tree on fire, just to get his revenge. There was nothing humorous about it (Though, later on, when he reflected back on it, he would disagree with himself).

"Don't you know," she said finally, once she had regained control of herself again, "that you aren't supposed to get your sword stuck in the tree in the first place?" He scowled and muttered darkly under his breath; yes, he realized, but he wasn't about to admit his mistake in front of _her_.

"Yeah, well, swordplay is harder than you'd think," he mumbled incoherently, driving his toes forcefully into the dirt, imagining each and every dust speck that flew up into the air to be her f –

"I know," came her semi-sympathetic reply, and he stopped in mid-motion out of sheer shock. He looked at her quickly (down, now, since he had gotten up a long time ago), and made a confused sort of face. Actually, he didn't know what his current expression was, since he didn't carry a mirror around like several snotty, conceited court-ladies he could mention, but he was pretty sure that his face expressed his deep-felt puzzlement. Lyn, the scornful, spiteful, evil (well, no, not quite, but close) woman, offering him empathy, however small?

"I know," she repeated, slower this time, as if she didn't quite think that he heard her the first time. "It is quite hard, but once you have the basics –" Hector couldn't resist interrupting her, as hard as his etiquette teacher drilled into his head that it was a No-No, Your Highness ever since the age of – the time he had started talking (Which was always too early for Madam Westings, apparently).

"I don't want fake sympathy," Hector grumbled. Lyn's brows shot up.

"Excuse me?" she said politely. "What do you mean, _fake sympathy_? I'm just _trying_ to be nice –"

"Slaves aren't allowed to even touch weapons," Hector pointed out earnestly, but immediately regretted it as her eyes darkened menacingly. What did he say? It was a commonly-accepted fact. Then he remembered –

"I wasn't always a slave, you know," she said, her voice menacingly quiet. Hector winced. Whatever had caused him to be so blunt and rude, he didn't know. Maybe it was just the way he was.

She gave him a withering gaze. "You nobles are so ignorant of the ways of others. You have no idea what the outside world even looks like." Now that, he had to protest. There were great scholars of his, er, kind, and some of them even traveled all around Elibe, gathering knowledge from various countries.

"Wait just a minute you –" he began angrily, but he swallowed back the words and allowed his jaw hang in surprise as Lyn reached for one of the spare iron swords that he had brought out. St. Ellimine, she was serious. She really did have some experience with the weapon. Her expert handling was obvious, even to a beginner like Hector.

"Look, do you want me to help you or not?" she said, testing the edge of the sword on her finger. Quickly, Hector closed his mouth and nodded.

_It can't hurt_, he thought. _In fact, knowing different styles might even be helpful, since it'll probably throw Eliwood off-guard . . ._

Lyn took a few steps back from him, kicking up dust from the dry training grounds as she did so. "Assume ready position," she told him, now a good three yards or so away from him. Hector gripped at the sword with one hand, half-way slung on his shoulder, as he was accustomed to. Lyn raised a brow.

"You look like you're holding an axe," she informed him. "You don't even know the basics, do you? It's no wonder you got your sword stuck in the tree." Hector's cheeks flushed most brilliantly.

"Look, are you here to mock me or help me?" he snapped, having minimal tolerance for taunts. She raised a hand with a sigh.

"Be patient! I'm trying to remember which posture would be the best for you . . ." She trailed off, sword in one hand and the fingers on the other tapping at her chin thoughtfully.

"There are different postures?" Hector asked. Oswin had taught him only one. Lyn looked as though she was trying her best not to roll her eyes.

"Of course. You're practicing for war, aren't you? Wars aren't like duels. You have to adjust depending on your terrain and your enemy's weapon."

"Actually . . ." Hector began reluctantly. "_IjustwanttobestEliwood_."

She looked at him, and for a split second, he thought that she would burst out laughing at his childishness. "Eliwood?" she said, her face carefully blank.

"Uh, yeah. My friend. Prince of Pherae, blah blah blah, he duels with a rapier," he said, scowling and turning his gaze from her. He almost expected a derisive laughter – almost.

"I see," she said, her expression still blank. "Now . . . take the hilt in both hands. Are you left-handed or right?"

"Right," he responded immediately. She nodded, and went on with her instructions.

"Then put your right hand on top of your left when you grip it. It gives you more control over the blade." She demonstrated with her own sword, and awkwardly, Hector followed suit. She gave her head a slight inclination of approval.

"Good. Now put your right foot in front of your left – the sole of your left foot should be lifted slightly, so that you can spring at any time – and try to balance most of your weight onto the right."

"Like . . . this?" He did as he was told.

"Yes," Lyn said. "Place the sword in front of your stomach – not quite that far, only a fist or two away from your bellybutton – and slowly raise the tip of your sword until you see it pointing at the throat of your enemy."

He blinked, not quite grasping the point of this. "Huh?" Surprisingly, she was patient with him.

"It makes it so that the enemy can't tell how long your sword is," she explained. "That would give you advantage in any case, a duel or a real to-death fight."

_Right_, he thought, the idea dawning on him. It did make sense. If your opponent could not estimate how far your reach was, then they would hesitate and would not be able to attack as freely.

"Now shuffle around, but keep enough bounce with your feet and don't drag them." He began to do so, the dust clouds forming about his feet, coating his dark trousers, feeling foolish as he scuffled about with a sword held uselessly in his hand –

She frowned suddenly. "No, wait, I forgot to tell you, always keep your left foot behind your right. Your legs aren't as likely to get tangled then." Hector glowered back at her.

"How do you mean?" he grumbled, though he was eager to learn.

She assumed ready-position herself, and gracefully, she began to step about the dry training area surrounded by greens, the dust-cloud around her noticeably smaller than his own. Her feet seemed to glide over the cracked surface of the ground – but he couldn't help but observe that her steps faltered at times.

"Like so," she said after a while, a little short of breath yet glowing. He noticed that she was not smug for once, but proud and alive – this, perhaps, surprised him the most out of all that happened so far today.

"So – now I –" Hector tried to copy her fluid, graceful movements, but he only succeeded on tripping on the long, dragging cloak and was forced to step wildly as he frantically detangled himself from the cloth to keep himself from falling.

When he did fall anyway, he looked at her, half-expecting her to laugh, or whatever, but instead, he found her face to be patient and understanding.

A jolt of – something – went through him.

_This is certainly new_.

She finally gave a small smile as he helped himself up. "It's not easy, trying to learn from scratch. But you'll get it soon."

Embarrassed, but not mortified – yet – Hector got back on his feet and dusted himself hastily. "You know, you should smile more often," he suggested suddenly, surprising himself in the process.

Lyn looked taken aback as well. "What?" her voice wary and suspicious.

"You look – uh –" _less arrogant and smug and maddening that way_, sounded like he had a death-wish, so he settled for a nice, simple "– better. With a smile," he said, somewhat lamely.

"I _see_," she sniffed, the bridge of her nose wrinkling slightly, though it was clear that she didn't.

"So – _so_! How about the rest of that lesson!" he said, overly loud. "Tomorrow, though. I am slightly worn and – I just . . ." he trailed off, not wanting to reveal that yes, he _did_ notice that she had not yet fully recovered from her injuries. Lyn, thankfully, made no further comments – though he _did_ catch her giving him an odd note out of the corner of his eyes.

"Tomorrow, then?" she said, bending down and lightly placing the iron sword back on the ground. Hector nodded, though the gesture went unseen by Lyn.

"Tomorrow," he echoed quietly.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Three months since I've updated! Wow. But you wonderful reviewers reviewed anyway! Thank you! You keep me going. (much love) Thanks to you I beat the writer's block for this chapter. X3

Ahhh, and please note that the story is very much half-way through now. I'm planning on about two or three more chapters, not including the epilogue. Yes! I can't believe it. I'm almost there!

Link015: _8D; Ah, yes. She came back only to disappear for three more months. But! It wasn't as long as before! Eheh . . ._

azn pride alwayz (x2): _D: Gah! I'm sorry I took so long. I thought I would be able to update, November being Thanksgiving break-containing month and all, but due to this chapter giving me much grief, it was extremely delayed. I hope next few chapters won't take as long. :D;;;_

Wandering Cat: _I'm glad that I could bring Sacae to life vividly. But! There are NUMEROUS authors who are infinitely more brilliant than I am . . . hee hee, though, anything to convert people to Hector x Lyn-ness –! (My all-time favorite pairing of any fandom now, though still tied with Kent x Lyn)_

Frodo007: _Thank you for the encouragement. I appreciate reactions from my readers. X3_

Sabishi Tomo: _Haha, yes, they ARE OOC at times. (Fine . . . half the time. . . . Most of the time . . . all of the time! I get it! I get itt! -tear-) Though, since it _is_ AU, I'm not sure if it can be helped with my current level of skill . . . but you know, I _am_ a fledgling amateur authoress. I just hope that my writing improves over time._

RevFF: _Aw, you're making me blush! Seriously! Have you checked out Lzn's story, Crossroads of the Heart? Granted, it had not been updated in a while, but her favorite stories/authors are great, too. _


End file.
